Forever Poi is available for 99 cents for one more day—as in today.
Hey, it’s Rey again, tootin’ my horn, hopin’ you’ll invest 99 pennies in our third professional caper, uh, case.
This time, JJ, Linda and I are out to solve a double-arson and murder. Who torched two Chinatown art galleries and left two charred bodies in the rubble? Are the arsonist and killer one and the same? We think so. But as we try to prove that, we encounter a plethora of possible culprits (JJ just loves—what’s it called again—ah, yeah, alliteration).
The day before the fire, Carlos Kawena, one of the arson victims, had a nasty break-up with his partner, James-Henri Ossature. There were financial issues, too. Could James-Henri have done the dastardly deed to collect insurance and be rid of his lover? What about the second victim, Mary-Louise Crabtree, a former queenpin? Given her super sketchy past, maybe a former foe murdered her? And, if that’s the case, maybe Carlos was simply collateral damage.
When we’re hired by insurance adjuster Xavier Shillingford to assist in the investigation, it soon becomes evident that professional arsonists didn’t set the fires. As they immerse themselves in the challenging case, a host of curious characters again materializes.
Here’s a taste . . .
“Is this the Triple Threat Investigation Agency?” a soft, prickly voice asked.
. . . Crispy? Sleep slipped from my body. “It is. It’s just shy of midnight. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sure. Which chick’s this?”
I swallowed a retort. “The one with the honey highlights.”
“And black-flow-lava eyes?”
“One and the same. The name’s JJ.”
“JJ, right.” His soft, thin whistle was reminiscent of a White-Throated Sparrow. “I tried A and he’s not answering.”
“Maybe he turned his phone off.” A wave of weariness washed over me and I leaned into a wall. “The guy’s been working long hours.”
“Maybe, but it’s not like him not to be available.”
I forced a neutral tone. “What can I help you with, Crispy?”
“I been asking around. The fire wasn’t set by anyone in my circles.”
“You mean your firebug friends?” I asked dryly.
“Incendiary friends, if you don’t mind,” he gibed.
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